Various Artists: Jazz Lounge Volume 1

The blue was almost overbearing. The sky and sea were cartoon clear, mid-June in the Ligurian Sea, just off the coast of Corsica. The sun drenched everything in sight, pulling the teak oil out of the wood of the rented speedboat and shooting it right up my nose full speed. It was competing for space in my senses with a myriad of other smells, sweating skin, the remnants of dockside lunch, blood and the jasmine bouquet of Angeline's shoulders. My god, she really is perfect, I reflected as we hit a wave full force and she launched off the deck ever so slightly, grabbing my arm and smiling. Her teeth were what caught me first. Odd to say, but a woman's teeth speak for her, in more ways than one.

Three days ago I had been lying in a hospital room looking at the mountains surrounding Castiglioncello and wondering just what in the hell had gone wrong. Bryan and I had come to the south of France for two weeks of relaxation, food and serious beach time. It's almost impossible to not have a good time in Marseilles. Especially when you're loaded from a fresh job and with a clean alibi trail leading all the way back three months. It's a shame those plans had to be put on hold. Bryan had clued me into the deal back in March and it sounded fucking perfect. One nights work, thirty years of pay. I had been squeaking by with small time hustles and part time work for a while. Nothing big ever panned out but it never stopped me from dreaming.

The deal was straight forward. Well, as straight forward as these things ever are. African diamonds going to Ukrainian black market dealers for some RPGs and a grab bag of AK47s, pistols and whatever else the Soviets left behind. The buyers were some little known radical faction from a tribal hot zone in the west of Africa. I'm almost certain they were the "Democratic Liberators of Something or Another". They always are. Anyway, the deal was being brokered by some of Bryan's old friends in Amsterdam and for a thirty percent cut, they would let us know where the exchange was and help us find a new buyer in the area. Lawyers. I hate fucking lawyers. But whatever I felt had to take a backseat to these particular lawyers, they were about to make me a very happy and wealthy man.

The one thing I'll give lawyers is that they're detail oriented. We had verified employment in Japan for one of their shell companies, alibis who would swear that we were at their hotel and the receipts to show for it. While our ghosts were working in Sendai (evidently we were contract IT) Bryan and I were mapping Amsterdam and setting up the job. Bryan had lived there in his early twenties so it really helped having him on this. That and his locals kept us in a steady supply of information and good hash. It made for a very pleasant stay. But we weren't here for the weed, not yet anyway. We had work to do.

The plan was simple. The buyers were coming in on a train from Paris and taking a taxi to the hotel a day before. The meet was the next afternoon with our boy so we had about a 12 hour window to relieve them of the diamonds. Hotel security was a joke and the police were far enough away that we could get clean before they arrived on scene.

We walked through the back door courtesy of a very disgruntled and now significantly wealthier cook and made our way to the emergency stairs. Changing into the masks and stripping off our street clothes on the landing, Bryan and I exchanged nervous looks. I hate to disappoint people, but it doesn't matter how long you've been doing this kind of shit, you're always nervous. Professionals just don't let it affect their cool. The door to the room was as promised, unlocked with the master key and opened with a slight click.

Two very surprised looking men were locked into that position permanently as the clack of two silenced pistol rounds opened their minds to the world. Such dirty business. We moved quickly then, scooping up the briefcase, grabbing the keys off both men and re locking the door. Back into the stairwell we headed, pulling back on the tourist outfits and filling our backpacks with the weapons and masks. Thankfully no one was awake and roaming the halls, I hate having to kill innocent people.

Out in the alleyway we met our waiting limo driver and headed off to the train station for passage to Marseilles. I never breath a sigh of relief until the job is done and we were only halfway there. Sitting underneath my feet was about $30 million in blood diamonds and some very bloody keys were jingling around in my pocket. The lawyers were sending their guy to meet us at a resort, Kalenda. A nights ride later we checked into our rooms at Kalenda and I started to sweat.

All that was left now was waiting for the agent to get in touch with us and collect our money. Bryan headed to the hotel bar and I stayed in the room with the briefcase, watching my cell with anxious twitching. I have always hated that part. Sitting, waiting, not knowing what's going on. I like the action. Put me in a firefight and I know what I'm doing. Make me sweat in a hotel room and we've got a problem.

The phone rang, Belgian country code, unknown number. I picked up and listened. "We meet in the restaurant at the docks, Une Table au Sud, 19:30. I will be wearing a white tie." "Alright." Well, there was about three hours to kill so grabbed my cargo and joined Bryan at the hotel bar for a while, clued him into our dinner plans and grabbed a glass of wine. Hotel bar crowds are the same every where, business types, tourists and the occasional local cruising for visitors. Time stood still for a while, chatting up a corporate raider from America about the growth of the Euro. Damn, I should have gotten our cash in Euros. Too late now, I bid farewell to my new friend and headed back to the room to change.

I slid the key into the door and heard the click of a gun one second too late. That's all I remember until the bright sunlight of the Italian morning and some serious fucking pain in my shoulder. Angeline was my nurse and over the next few days I managed to get in touch with Bryan through some contacts in Italy and convince Angeline to help me out. She helped me get out of the hospital without too many uncomfortable "gunshot, found on the beach" questions. Let no one ever underestimate the power of persuasion.

Persuasion, and about three grand in bribes. My pocket money was running low, my shoulder felt like someone had dropped it in lava and I had some double crossing bullshit to wade through. Bryan was in the clear, he had been shot three times in the leg and one to the chest, left for dead by these pricks. The only other person that knew where we were was that Belgian phone number.

A short shopping trip to pick up a new cell phone, call Bryan and give him the new number, find me a boat and we were on our way. Angeline and I were off to Corsica to meet up with him and find out exactly who I needed to punch holes through to get our payday. It was going to be a long summer.

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